


Five Times Anduin Wrynn Sucked Dick (and One Time He Didn't)

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Facials, First Time, Genital Piercing, M/M, Oral Knotting, Praise Kink, Premature Ejaculation, Size Difference, Strap-Ons, Threesome - M/M/M, Tongue-in-Penis Insertion, Trans Male Character, Trans/Trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Anduin's adventures with the various men in his life.
Relationships: Arator the Redeemer/Anduin Wrynn, Baine Bloodhoof/Anduin Wrynn, Genn Greymane/Anduin Wrynn, Mathias Shaw/Anduin Wrynn, Mathias Shaw/Anduin Wrynn/Flynn Fairwind, Varok Saurfang/Anduin Wrynn, Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 65
Kudos: 141





	1. Baine

The tauren’s fur brushed the tears from Anduin’s cheeks as he buried himself in his embrace. Nestled between the smooth exterior of the Sunreaver’s Sanctuary and the outer wall of the city, they almost— almost— found a moment of total reprieve. Anduin clung to it, and to him. His small fingers buried themselves in the tauren’s plaits and his forehead nestled into the crook of his neck.

Exhausted and overwhelmed and craving answers he’d never receive, the best Anduin could do was lose himself in the arms of the only person who seemed to expect nothing from him.

He drew in a breath. Baine rested a large hand against the back of his head. The wind rustled the grass at their feet, and when he breathed in, he caught a salty hint of the sea churning several miles beneath them: the same dark sea and broken shore that had claimed his father's life only a month ago. 

“Greymane will come looking for you,” Baine pointed out after a pause. Anduin might have cursed the dose of reality from his friend if not for the way his chest hummed against Anduin’s face when he spoke. 

“Let him,” Anduin finally murmured, not entirely sure he believed his own words, but resolute to stand by them. He toyed with the tuft of coarse hair at the end of the High Chieftain’s braid, then moved to caress the feather that rested beside it. In the shadows, it no longer gave off an opalescent sheen, but instead looked dull and pale, like Anduin’s own face when he had snuck out of Stormwind that morning. 

Discouraged by the thought, he pursed his lips and burrowed deeper into his friend’s arms. Baine wasted no time in receiving him, tilting his head, scooping him up, and bowing forward until his thick lower lip covered the king’s tight frown.

Anduin didn’t react at first. His thoughts were too far away to ponder the gesture and what the High Chieftain might be offering. It was the coolness of his nose ring swinging forward that finally got the king’s attention. A surprised sound escaped him. He clutched Baine’s braid in the palm of his hand and, with far little thought than was probably due, strained up onto his toes and let his lips part to accept the man’s much larger tongue. 

It wasn’t what he had come here to do, nor why he had sent to Baine begging for an audience, but it was something to cling to against the storm of grief and inadequacy ever threatening to break loose. 

With a murmur, he kissed again. His tongue traced the row of flat teeth in the tauren’s mouth and his whole body pressed into the warmth of his fur. 

Large hands found the curve Anduin’s spine, tracing over it, and then settling lightly against his backside. There hadn’t been any declaration of desire or heartfelt confession of love long harbored, but it all felt comfortable, easy. 

Despite their difference in size, their bodies fit together. Baine took great care to protect him from the wind, and Anduin squirmed his hands into the space between them to massage the chieftain from chest to shoulders. For a time, it was enough for them both. As he kissed and explored, however, the king found himself dwelling on the lines of his muscles beneath his fur and the occasional tremble that passed from the tauren’s body to the tips of his fingers. 

Leaning in, Anduin rested his head against Baine’s shoulder. It afforded him the chance to look down, to follow the “v” of white fur tapering off beneath his belt. The loincloth hanging beneath it was starting to tent, its flap leaving very little to the imagination. 

Blood rushed to Anduin’s cheeks and pooled between his legs. Baine must have come to his senses about what was happening, because the hands splaying on Anduin’s ass tightened, then withdrew. Baine let out a grunt, and then an abashed: “I…hope I haven’t upset you.”

“No!” Anduin was quick to jump in. _Upset_ wasn’t at all the way to describe what he was feeling. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he spoke with the boldness of a man who had given up caring how he might be perceived, “I just…I’m curious. I’d like to see. Not to spectate, I mean! I like you, and I’d like to—”

The sound that escaped the tauren might have been a growl or some word uttered in Taur-ahe Anduin hadn’t understood. Rethinking his jumped reply, Anduin felt his stomach sink. Had he said too much? Had he given his friend the wrong impression, treated him like an oddity? 

Dread the king had only barely staved off kicked up again and churned like the sea. Cheeks that had once been hot now felt like ice, the Broken Shore’s unforgiving winds stinging his face where his tears had left their trails.

All the while, Baine was watching. Thankfully, he didn’t leave Anduin to suffer in his fear. A large hand cupped the side of his face and drew him back in, and then he murmured, low but resolute:

“You may look. You may do what you wish, my friend. I would—” Baine hesitated, but, after a pause, went on to admit— “I would enjoy it, if it pleases you.”

Anduin nodded. He looked up at his friend, and then, before he could lose his nerve, sank down onto his knees. The grass proved surprisingly soft, which was welcome given how the wet air made his leg ache. Or perhaps it was just his own preoccupation—and fascination—with what he was about to do that chased any other thoughts or feelings from his mind. 

With his gaze trained on Baine’s brown eyes, he slid his fingers under his gold belt buckle, fumbling a bit with the latch before finally working it free. It hit the ground behind them with a clatter he hoped wouldn’t be overheard. The same concerns must have crossed Baine, as well, because he huffed, breaking eye contact to turn his head to the side.

At least that was Anduin’s first assumption. It soon struck him, however, that it might have been nerves of a different sort that guided the tauren’s gaze to the left of his shoulder. Either way, it gave Anduin the chance to look down at the leather flap jutting into the space between them. Reaching for the final strap holding it in place, he untied it, hands clammy and fingers shaking as they pulled loose the cords and cast it off to the side. 

He looked again, and his face grew hot. Baine’s cock was only half-free of its sheath, but its flared head already shone with the evidence of his arousal. Anduin hadn’t know what to expect, but nothing had prepared him for how powerfully it twitched when Anduin brought a hand to rest against the fur beside it. 

Its girth would be too great for just one hand, he knew. He encircled it with both, then pulled back, marveling at how it slid out under his touch. One inch, then another— how much of it did the tauren have! His heart pounded at the thought, and he was suddenly keenly aware of the wetness in his smallclothes. 

Clenching his legs together in hopes for some friction, he stroked again, then bowed forward. Too caught up to consider a strategy, he yielded instead to instinct and desires he wouldn’t put into words. 

He swirled his small tongue around his head, and then traced it along his slit. He wasn’t shocked when the opening yielded to him; after all, everything about him was small beside the tauren’s enormous body. He took advantage of it, easing in the tip and letting Baine’s cock consume him. Soon his lips pressed against Baine’s head, wrapping around him as well as they could while his tongue explored as much of him as he could reach.

His hands tightened to steady the massive appendage. They stroked, and his tongue worked him from inside. Sucking and kissing and murmuring against Baine’s skin, he memorized all of it: from his musky scent to the way his hooves dug into the dirt beneath them. These were the details he wanted to cling to as he squirmed and tightened and basked in the heat spreading between his legs.

Baine never reached for the back of his head, but instead grasped the wall behind them. Anduin didn’t have to look to know he was scratching and clinging to it for support. The king could feel it in the way his thighs tightened, and how his cock throbbed around the tip of Anduin’s tongue. When he jerked and gasped, Anduin was ready, at least as much as one could be ready with no experience at all.

Tightening his lips around Baine’s flared head and withdrawing his tongue, he gave the tauren one final stroke. Everything from Baine's hooves to the tip of his maw seemed to tighten at once, then he groaned into the air above Anduin’s head. He throbbed once, twice, then a salty burst hit the back of Anduin’s throat. The human had to struggle to swallow, but he managed to get at least half before it started leaking out of the corners of his lips and down each side of his chin. 

He must have looked unbecoming, he knew, but Baine was quick to wipe away the mess. The tauren brought his hands back to his face and cupped his cheeks, burying his fingers in his hair. The young king rested like that for a time, watching as Baine’s cock softened and slowly started to withdraw. When he was able, he tilted his cheek against the white fur of Baine’s lower abdomen, drew in a breath, and lost himself to his friend’s gentle approval.


	2. Genn

There was a kind of nervous jitter that shook Anduin from his toes to the ends of his hair. It wasn’t fully fear or excitement. It wasn’t entirely regret, either, despite the unfortunate turn their assault on Lordaeron had suddenly taken. It was something far more complex, and more primal. A shiver that couldn’t be shaken. A gritting of teeth that demanded more. 

He wondered, for a moment, if this was what his father used to feel after a turn on the battlefield or after leaving an Orcish arena. He had never really thought he would begin to understand his father in that capacity, yet here he was, with his father’s sword resting on his legs, with the smell of blood and blight still clinging to the tip of his tongue. Shalamayne’s gem surrounded him in a golden glow that came from somewhere within him, but otherwise, he was a king, a general, just as his father had been.

Maybe it was that realization alone that made him shift in his seat and dig the heel of his boots into the airship’s wood floor.

Forcing a breath from his lungs, he cast a glance down the bench at Genn Greymane, the only other man permitted to sit in the ship’s royal chamber. The older king leaned the side of his face against the wall and gazed out the porthole. In the foul green light seeping in through the glass, he looked especially pallid. Deep creases had formed between his brows and his lips had pursed into a frown.

Again, the tremors came to Anduin, building in the pit of his stomach like the churning sea in a storm. While he felt alight with energy, the Gilnean king looked exhausted and resigned. Perhaps Anduin had misjudged the normalcy of whatever it was that was plaguing him. Needing to do something and hoping to find common ground between himself and the older man, he set aside his father’s sword, slid down the bench, and murmured under his breath, “I’m sorry. I wish it hadn’t ended the way it did.” 

Greymane lifted his head. His grey eyes looked black in the shadows. “We all do,” he replied with a growl: a hint of the old wolf lurking within his heart. 

“I’m sorry,” Anduin tried again. With his tongue now loosed, it was hard to keep every thought and feeling from tumbling out. His breath hitched, and he whispered with his hands clenched in his lap, “I shouldn’t have misjudged her. I should have accepted how little she cares about her people. I made a grave error—another one— that cost us many Alliance lives, and if you blame me…”

Anduin couldn’t bring himself to say more. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. A low ‘clang’ cut him off, and, turning his head, he realized it was the heel of Genn’s hand knocking against his pauldron. After a pat or two, it lingered, pale against the gold finish. Anduin arched his brow and followed that arm until his gaze finally reached Genn's face. 

“King Greymane?” He asked, his voice a bit hoarser than it had sounded moments before.

“Anduin,” the Gilnean replied. They stared at each other for a moment, and then he felt Genn’s fingers pressing under the shoulder plate to the latch that held the item in place. 

There was a click, then the ‘thnk’ of metal knocking against metal, then Anduin was relieved of the unwieldy weights he had carried on his shoulders: literally, at least, if not figuratively. 

With the pauldrons gone, Genn’s arm snaked around him in their place. Although not entirely sure what was being offered, Anduin accepted, scooting in until he rested in the crook of the older man’s chest beside the flap of his leather coat. Genn gave him a squeeze, and he tried his best to relax in it. They sat for a moment in silence, with Anduin’s cheek pressed just beneath the curve of Genn’s neck and the older man’s mustache bristling his forehead every time he exhaled. 

But try as he might, the nervous quiver remained. Anduin’s fingers itched to move and his tongue begged for freedom behind his clenched teeth. After opening and closing his mouth to try to relieve the ache in his jaw, he realized this was not going to be enough, not to quiet his nerves and self-doubts. 

He wanted more. There was no denying his need for relief. Decisively, he tilted his head and then pressed his lips against the line of Genn’s jaw. Immediately, he felt the man clench: felt widened eyes seeking out his in the darkness, flashing beneath furrowed white brows. 

“Anduin.” 

It wasn’t an admonishment, but it didn’t sound like an open invitation, either. Anduin waited, giving the other king time to collect himself. Had Genn protested then, he would have stopped, but when he didn’t, the jitter in his bare fingers won out, and he reached down and rested them against the top of the other man’s thigh. 

With that, Genn cleared his throat. Any questions either of them might have had about the first gesture vanished with the introduction of the second. Straining up, Anduin found Genn’s lips and covered them with his own. The older man groaned, hands flying to Anduin’s side and prying loose his plate chestguard.

Once he had been relieved of his armor, Genn lifted him into his lap. His hands slid under Anduin’s linen undershirt and pressed against the sweat-soaked bindings he wore underneath. Growling, the Gilnean dug in his nails and pulled him to straddle his lap. 

Despite the searching look in his eyes and the frown he still wore beneath his mustache, Genn wasted no time showing him what he wanted. Anduin felt his hands move from his back to the curve of his ass. Rocking his hips forward, he gasped and buried his face against the crook of the older king’s neck. 

Genn clutched him to his chest, and then removed one hand from his backside to bury it, instead, in his hair. Clutching, then tugging, he tilted Anduin’s head away and kissed just beneath his ear. Anduin felt the scrape of teeth, and another growl: a promise, perhaps, of what was to come. 

The shudders that coursed through him now were much easier for the young king to identify, racing up his thighs, tightening deep between his legs. Fingers that had flexed for something to do now traced the lines of Genn Greymane’s face and got lost in his white-grey hair. The younger and older king rocked together: desperate, instinctual. Warmth spread from the pit of Anduin's chest to his cheeks and the tips of his delicate ears. 

He felt Genn’s need, but, more importantly, he felt his approval, and all he wanted was for the feeling to last. 

Sliding a hand down between them, he found the growing bulge in Genn’s leather breeches. He wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing, and watching as the Gilnean’s eyes clenched closed. Making up his mind, Anduin crawled out of his lap and came to rest, instead, on the floor. 

Anduin felt Genn readying to complain when he moved, but, as soon as he looked down and saw where Anduin had ended up, the words seemed to leave the tip of his tongue. Instead, he nodded, and spread his legs further to accommodate him. 

That was all the invitation Anduin needed, despite any misgivings he might have had under less addled circumstances. His fingers made quick work of Genn’s lacings, and his hand plunged into his pants to ease out his cock. It twitched in his grasp and grew harder with a few careful strokes. 

Smiling, Anduin leaned forward. His blond hair swished about his face, but Greymane was there to push it back and twist it up between his fingers. Anduin could feel his stare as his lips parted and wrapped around his head; he could sense a quiver in the other man’s legs as he swallowed down a few inches. It encouraged him, and inspired him. He moaned around the man's length and clenched his own thighs together.

Anduin then tightened his grip on the base of his cock. His curled fingers pressed into the bush of white hair peeking out of the Gilnean’s open pants. After a few more sucks, Anduin was certain that hair was starting to thicken, but he didn’t hesitate. He just focused on taking him in, focused on keeping his throat still when he felt the other man’s cock nudge against it, and focused on steadying his breath as a whiff of a heady, almost primal, scent started to overtake him. 

The weight and shape of the shaft pressed against his tongue started to change, and the hand on the back of his head grew larger and harsher as it shoved him into a patch of white fur where his shirt and coat had once been. 

Anduin gasped but didn’t resist. He wasn’t sure he could have, anyways, even if he had wanted to, with a worgen’s claws pressed against his scalp. Thankfully, any escape or lack thereof was the furthest thing from the young king’s mind. 

Instead he rested one hand against Genn’s thigh for support and let himself be pushed down. Drawing on the Light to ease the quivering itch in his throat, he let Genn fuck into him. With every thrust, the midsection of Genn's cock seemed to swell, until Anduin could barely strain his lips around it. It popped in, then out, then in again, while saliva leaked out of the corners of his lips.

His jaw cried out in pain around the girth, and a few tears gathered beneath his lashes, but he refused to give up. The groans and gasps from the man above him left his small-clothes wet. They satisfied him like no normal praise could have done. Even Genn’s claws felt like a blessing as they grasped onto him, begging for him—

Anduin needed this. He needed something to go right. When the worgen groaned and gasped, he was gasping for him. When he yanked back his head and splattered cum across his face, he was marking him with the satisfaction he had brought out. 

With his knot still swollen in Anduin’s grasp, Genn leaned back and let out a whine. Soon the claws that had dug into the back of Anduin’s head loosened their grip, then slid down to trace instead along his cheek. 

Though he knew he soaked in sweat, cum, and tears, Genn’s caress was unflinching. Anduin leaned into it. His eyes slid closed, and he reveled in his hard-won victory: however complex and shameful, even, it might ultimately prove to be.


	3. Arator

The carriage lurched beneath them, slowing, then bouncing as they passed over a bump in the road. Beside Anduin, Arator the Redeemer left out a soft sound. His hands laced together in his lap and his blue eyes remained fixed on the wall separating them from their coach driver. Another uncomfortable pause set in between them. Anduin finally took a chance and shifted an inch or two to his right.

Now their legs were only a hand’s width apart. Anduin didn’t glance down, but he could feel the warmth of the other man’s body. It wasn’t unwelcome: no. Anduin was grateful for the chance to spend time away from the Keep with the kind—and _handsome_ —young paladin.

If not for the expectations placed upon them, it might have even been pleasant. But as it was, the air around them felt thick and difficult to breath, and the royal cart felt anything but soft despite the thick layer of interior padding. 

Anduin forced a smile. When he shifted his weight, the paladin froze. When he cleared his throat, Arator set his lips in an unyielding line. It was going to be a long trip back to Stormwind. 

“Well,” the human tried after another pause, “Northshire Abbey really is beautiful this time of year, isn’t it? It was nice of the brothers to invite us.”

“It was. I’m grateful to my father for making the arrangements, and to you, your Majesty, for joining me.”

From the way the half-elf uttered those final few words, it was clear he had little else to say on the matter. Anduin’s heart clenched, but he fought to ensure the flash of pain didn’t reach his face. Pressing his palm against the cushion to his left, he turned ever-so-slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Arator’s face.

Thankfully, he found neither annoyance or disgust on the man’s features, but instead something entirely different: a slight tremble in his lower lip, and a deep blush staining his pale cheeks crimson. 

“Hey!” Anduin exclaimed, a bit louder than he intended. The sound seemed to catch Arator off guard, for he went rigid, and his shoulders clenched up into his golden hair. Anduin blushed and hurried to turn things around, waving his hand and flashing the broadest smile he could manage:

“Oh, I— I was just thinking, I mean, I just wanted to say you look very nice tonight,” the young king cringed when he heard his own voice. “That isn’t to say you don’t look nice every night, of course! I just think that grey tunic…it really suits you.”

Light damn it all, how had Wrathion done it? It had sounded so easy on the tip of the dragon's tongue. His mind drifted unbidden to those nights at the Tavern, to Wrathion’s crimson eyes flashing as he showered him with praise. The very thought made his mouth feel dry. 

Furrowing his brow and willing himself to focus, the king cast a prayer to the Light, and tried again with all the resolve he could muster: “It brings out your eyes, I mean. They look like…like two full moons.”

Anduin’s ears grew hot as he struggled through those final words. By the grace of the Light, however, Arator didn’t leave him to suffer. He chuckled, and his shoulders relaxed back down. “Oh. Ah—” He glanced over at Anduin, “My Aunt Vereesa chose it for me. I’ll let her know you approve.” 

“Please do,” Anduin nodded. His blond ponytail bobbed with the force of the gesture. Their eyes met, and they exchanged a smile. The silence that followed wasn’t quite as oppressive as it had been before. 

Anduin could tell from the orange light creeping in beneath their curtains that the sun was starting to go down. It wouldn’t be long before they paused for a drink in Goldshire, and after that it would be back to his normal life within the walls of the Keep. 

And after that, there might be another date, another nobleman vying for his hand, perhaps one far less beautiful and respectful than Arator. He knew he should make the most of his time while he could. Swallowing, he shifted closer once more, and this time Arator didn’t tense at the movement. 

Determined to take the chance, Anduin shifted and met Arator’s gaze with another smile. He leaned in, and, after another deep blush, the half-elf joined him. Their lips met, and Anduin slid his fingers up into Arator’s hair. The tips of his long ears burned against the pads of Anduin’s fingers. 

The contact lasted only a moment before Arator leaned back in his chair. Uncertain, Anduin paused, gave him a moment, before murmuring gently, “Is this all right?”

“It is, yes. I just haven’t—”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Anduin assured him, “Just let me know if it’s too much. I wouldn’t want to—”

“No, it’s all right, Anduin. Your Majesty—”

“All right!” Anduin wished his laugh didn’t sound so much like a giggle, but it would have to suffice. Licking his lips, he leaned in again. Their noses bumped, but then, after tilting his head, Anduin found the softness of the half-elf’s mouth, then the wet tip of his tongue.

This time he was able to linger. As he kissed, he traced his hand along Arator’s cheek, then tucked back a strand of his silky hair. Arator murmured and exhaled a breath that ticked Anduin’s cheeks. Their cart lurched again. Anduin allowed himself to rock forward, pressing his free hand against the padded back wall and draping a knee into Arator’s lap.

The paladin gasped and rested his hands on Anduin’s hips to steady him. They kissed again, and Anduin rocked forward along Arator’s thigh. A moan rose unbidden to the king’s lips: a sigh Arator likely felt more than heard pressed against his flushed lower lip. Anduin shuddered. The half-elf tightened his grip, and then, blushing and stammering, managed to whisper:

“Is that how you like to be touched?”

“Yes,” Anduin all but gasped out his reply. Soon he felt long fingers sliding between them, fumbling with the latch on his belt, before giving up and wedging, instead, between Anduin’s thighs. There was pressure against his slit, but not near the friction he needed. Rocking his hips, he hoped the half-elf would understand. After a moment or two of frustration, he decided to take matters into his own hands and reached down to undo the lacings of Arator’s pants. 

“Oh—” He thought he heard the paladin whisper, but it might have just been a hitch in his breath. Squirming slightly to readjust his weight gave Anduin the chance to lean back and give him a searching look.

When their eyes met again, Arator’s lips parted and the sound that escaped them was somewhere between a chuckle and a hastily offered apology. Anduin shook his head, hoping to quell any rising concerns. His fingers stilled against the tent in Arator’s pants, then he waited, then prompted with a whisper he hoped wouldn’t be overheard, “May I?”

Arator hesitated, then nodded. He worked his hand free from between the king’s legs and pressed it against the door of the carriage instead. 

Withdrawing his knee, Anduin slid back to lay on the seat. His feet dropped to the floor and he propped his elbow on the cushion beside the paladin’s hip. Leaning over, he suddenly didn’t feel quite as awkward as he had meeting Arator’s stare. 

Tugging the lacings and working his fingers beneath them, Anduin quickly found Arator’s cock and eased it free. Above him, he heard a soft moan of approval. Encouraged, he wrapped his fingers around it and stroked, much smoother and easier than the last time he had found himself in this position.

Arator’s skin was like velvet against his palm. His head was already wet with the evidence of his arousal, and Anduin took comfort in it. He smeared it with the pad of his thumb, then leaned down and replaced the digit with the tip of his tongue. At that contact, Arator whimpered. His hand landed with a ‘thd’ against the padded wall and his cock twitched and hardened between Anduin’s fingers. 

He seemed to be loosening up. When he gasped again, it was with far less restraint, and a certain edge that betrayed his need. Anduin didn’t waste any time in giving him what he seemed to want. Parting his lips, he wrapped them around the half-elf’s bare head and sliding down until his face pressed into the folds of Arator’s open trousers.

A soft bit of hair there tickled Anduin’s nose, but he kept his focus. Breathing in Arator’s scent, he leaned back, then swallowed him down again. He teased the underside of his cock with his tongue and sucked. The half-elf’s cock twitched against it, and then suddenly, with only a cry to serve as his warning, something hot and wet hit the back of his throat.

Caught off guard, Anduin coughed. The cum’s saltiness flooded his mouth, and he jerked back, struggling to swallow before any of it ended up on the paladin’s clothes. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and, with his eyes wide and sweat clinging to the nape of his neck, he chanced a glance in the half-elf’s direction.

After he had done so, however, he really wished that he hadn’t. His own blush was nothing compared to the fire burning on Arator’s cheeks. Shame and horror and despair all came together in the half-elf’s slack-jawed stare. Anduin could tell he was trying to say something, but all he heard was a strangled cry. 

Looking away, Anduin fumbled to tuck Arator’s cock back in his clothing and re-tie the laces that concealed it. The paladin’s embarrassment was infectious; soon Anduin found his own hands shaking and struggled to right his clothes. 

Blood pounded in his ears, making it difficult to hear the apology Arator fought so hard to make. Shaking his head and flashing an awkward smile, Anduin quickly dismissed it. He leaned back in his seat, pursed his lips, and covered his sticky hand with his clean one, clenching them together in his lap. The rest of their journey passed in silence, and when they arrived in Goldshire, the king was more than eager for the beer they had been promised.


	4. Varok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some vague pregnancy-risk discussion here.

Anduin threw back his head. The pelt beneath him lessened the force of the impact, its thick fur framing his face. As Saurfang pressed forward, Anduin arched up to meet him. One hand reached to cup the High Overlord’s cheek while the other grasped and fumbled with the edge of their Orcish bed mat. 

The king shuddered as the orc’s coarse braid grazed the swell of his chest. Saurfang growled. He nuzzled Anduin’s face with his tusk and Anduin could only whimper at the roughness of the tooth and the smoothness of the silver he had pierced through it. 

It was that contrast that really left Anduin weak: the stifling weight of his body upon him and the gentleness with which he ran a finger between Anduin’s lips and teased the tip of his swollen clit. It was the groan forced out between sharp teeth and the care behind every word he whispered against the shell of Anduin’s ear.

“Anduin,” the orc murmured. His breath was hot against Anduin’s skin, “This is what you want?”

“Yes!” The human exclaimed: a declaration cut short by a cry as his body clenched under the orc’s ministrations. Heels hitting the fur and legs falling open to tremble at either side of Saurfang’s knees, Anduin’s body emphasized what his tongue had only barely managed to gasp. 

Heat rose to his cheeks and pooled in the wetness between his legs, but Anduin didn’t move to hide his face. Instead he stared into Saurfang’s eyes, caring little about the sweat clinging to his brow or the disarray of his hair. Wanton and exposed though he must have looked, he wanted his once-opponent to know how he felt: the way his heart raced, and the respect and longing that swelled in his chest when he felt the orc’s skin on his own. 

That swell and _ache_ returned as he pushed himself up. The hand that had been on Saurfang’s cheek now pressed back into his hair, getting lost between thick grey strands and following them down to drape over his muscular shoulder. 

With this change in position came a change in the angle of Saurfang’s strokes, as well. Anduin felt the orc’s fingers part and slide against either side of his clit, making it twitch up into the space between them. A jolt passed through the king and he dug his nails into Saurfang’s back. Trembling and rocking into his touch, he leaned forward until his forehead rested against the orc’s bare chest and his face got lost in the thick, white hair he found there.

Breathing in and closing his eyes, Anduin took in his scent. Saurfang smelled of musk and a touch like the smoke that had risen from the dying embers of their campfire. Anduin also caught a certain earthiness— though it may have been the clay walls and dirt floor that surrounded them—and the soft hint of his own arousal slicking Saurfang’s hand.

Licking his lips, Anduin leaned into him. Spreading his legs around him, he scooted forward, not stopping until he had nudged the orc back and crawled into his lap. He felt so small surrounded by his body, but powerful as the orc yielded to his wordless request. 

Sliding his fingers back up the nape of Saurfang’s neck, Anduin guided him down into a kiss. As he pressed his mouth against the High Overlord’s lower lip, the orc stilled his strokes, instead grasping his thigh and forcing his legs further open. 

Anduin felt the wetness of his fingers and the flush of his half-hard cock resting against the crook of his leg. He shuddered and rolled his hips; the orc’s shaft was nearly the size of Anduin’s forearm, and the ring pierced through it was thick and heavy rubbing against his thigh. 

Squirming, the king tried to shift until that cock rested between his folds, but Saurfang’s grip was unyielding. Rather than letting him rut, as he so desperately wanted, the orc clutched his thigh out with one hand while the other returned to thumb at the underside of Anduin’s clit.

Anduin tensed. His body jerked forward at their renewed contact, and against Saurfang’s cock his thighs shook, earning a low growl of approval from the orc. He no longer needed the High Overlord’s grip to keep his legs spread. He splayed them around his lap, toes curling into the pelt beneath them and digging in to find purchase. As his body started to tense, he clutched the orc anywhere he could reach. Fingers that had been buried under Saurfang’s hair moved to the leather cord of his necklace, then to his shoulder, then down to his muscular haunch.

Shaking and gasping, Anduin yielded to the pleasure. It built somewhere deep within him and begged for release, but the orc’s large hand left little room for his own intervention. He was fully at Saurfang’s mercy, and all he could do was squeeze closed his eyes and _feel_. He felt the heat of the Durotar night, the bristle of Saurfang’s hair against his own sweat-slicked chest, and the way his body tightened and clenched as the tension building under his clit unfurled in a sudden jolt.

There was a flash, and then, fighting to catch his breath, Anduin finally managed to make sense of his surroundings once more. In his release, he had arched back, and Saurfang had released his hold on his legs to catch him. Now the orc’s hands splayed across his lower back, each one almost spanning from one side to the other. 

He trusted their grip and leaned into it. With his chest rising and falling and sweat clinging to the nape of his neck, Anduin looked up into Saurfang’s face and offered a flustered smile. The orc returned it with a nod, and the faintest hint of a smirk that faded as quickly as it had come. 

Pressing himself back up to a seated position, Anduin scooted in. He draped his arms around Saurfang’s shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist. 

The orc’s chin rested against Anduin’s forehead. Between his legs, his cock twitched, leaking pre into the soft trail of hair on Anduin’s abdomen. Murmuring his approval, Anduin shifted closer, flexing his fingers, then lacing them together around the High Overlord’s neck. He nuzzled and kissed the orc’s jaw before looking up at him with adoration. Feelings Anduin hadn’t felt since Pandaria wrapped him up in their warmth, just as the orc’s strong arms embraced him and held him close. 

He contented himself in the feeling but remained keenly aware of Saurfang’s arousal. How could he forget it, after all, with it pressed flush against his body. After a moment, Anduin looked up and trailed his fingertips along the edge of Saurfang’s pointed ear. He confessed, with all the composure he could manage, “I’d like to have you inside of me.”

It seemed the orc had anticipated the offer, as he quickly shot back, “I would hurt you.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Anduin pointed out before pressing a kiss to his chin, “Not until we try.”

Against him, Anduin felt the orc’s body tense. He seemed to be considering, and from the way his cock throbbed, the king could hardly bring himself to guess what kind of lewd thoughts might be passing through his mind. Hoping to encourage him, Anduin rocked forward, but he was met with a grunt of resistance. 

Saurfang shook his head. The necklace resting between his pecs swayed, and his braids tickled Anduin’s chest. “We’ll be to Orgrimmar by sundown tomorrow,” he looked down, then pressed his lips against the human’s forehead, “I can’t have you limping into battle.”

Anduin opened his mouth to protest, to point out that he always limped into battle and would prefer if the limping this time didn’t stem from an ache in his knee, but then he felt Saurfang’s palm sliding forward to rest against the lines of his abdomen. 

The king drew in a sharp intake of breath and heat flooded his cheeks. Though Saurfang said nothing more, Anduin realized at once what other trepidation had plagued the High Overlord’s thoughts. He opened his mouth, but the sound that left his lips wasn’t the appreciative thanks he had planned to utter. Instead it was a whimper, high, and a bit desperate, followed by a hurried request:

“All right. Well, then, let me use my mouth on you.”

This seemed to give Saurfang pause. He stilled, then, after a moment, traced a small circle on Anduin’s belly with the pad of his thumb. It took another few moments before he finally nodded, “All right.”

“Okay,” Anduin returned the nod with enthusiasm, and then, working himself free, slid back to lay on his chest with an elbow propped between the orc’s crossed legs. 

He could feel Saurfang’s eyes upon him, but he focused his own gaze on the orc’s cock. It had started to go soft during their conversation, but even half-soft it remained impressive, with its thick foreskin and the silver ring looped through its slit. It took only a few light touches to return it to hardness, and then Anduin wrapped both palms around it: he needed to, in fact, to accommodate its weight and girth. 

Pressing back his foreskin to reveal the rest of his head, Anduin dipped forward. He teased his slit with the tip of his tongue, then stretched his lips around him. He only managed to take an inch or two before his jaw refused to open any wider, but it proved enough to earn him a growl of approval and a hand resting gently against the back of his head.

Saurfang didn’t push. Anduin didn’t think he would. He seemed content to ruffle Anduin’s hair and enjoy the way his mouth felt wrapped tightly around him. Still, the king wanted to do his best to please him, each time pacing his sucks and using his tongue to roll the ring through its hole. 

What he couldn’t accommodate with his mouth, he tried his best to cover with the palms of his hands. He slid back and stroked his sheath forward, working his tongue inside its fold to swirl around his head. When he pressed back the foreskin once more and took his head into his mouth, he slid his hands down until they reached the nest of white hair surrounding his base. Falling into a rhythm, Anduin closed his eyes and focused on the way Saurfang’s body clenched and quickening of the orc’s breath over his hair. 

He wasn’t sure when the idea had struck him. Maybe he hadn’t thought it out at all, or at least hadn’t put it into words in his mind. But soon Anduin’s fingertips warmed with the heat and tingle of the Light, and he trailed them along either side of Saurfang’s cock. The orc let out a loud moan. It was only then that Anduin lifted his gaze, finding Saurfang staring down at him with a questioning look and a gasp that had slackened his jaw.

Despite the strain in the corners of his lips, Anduin managed a smile. With that, he sucked down again, letting the Light from his fingers ease the pain in his face and draw the orc closer and closer to his own release. 

After a few more sucks, Anduin leaned back, letting his hands fully take over. He stroked and stared, appreciating his thickness and the way he twitched—the wetness leaking from his head and the way his balls tightened as Anduin’s hands moved faster. 

Anduin felt him throb and he closed his eyes, but no amount of readying himself could have prepared the king for the burst of cum that splattered across his face. Thick and hot, it marked him from forehead to chin, clinging to his lips and tongue when he opened his mouth to murmur his approval. 

He didn’t dare look up until Saurfang reached down and wiped clean his brow, and even then, it took a few seconds for Anduin to collect himself before daring to meet the other man’s gaze. When he finally did, it was with flushed cheeks and a smile still sticky with cum. 

Their eyes met, and Saurfang offered a smile of his own: faint and a bit guarded, but genuine. They stared at each other, and then, reaching a wordless understanding, Saurfang scooped him up and cradled him in his arms. Relaxing, Anduin enjoyed the warmth of his embrace and the love and adoration that swelled in his chest as he listened to the orc's heartbeat.


	5. Mathias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol is involved so the consent here is slightly dubious, albeit given. Please be aware before proceeding!

“Really? You’re serious?” Captain Fairwind let out a loud guffaw, setting aside his empty cup and staring across the table, incredulous. Anduin met his look with a shrug, his cheeks a bit warmer than he would have liked.

“Yes,” he confessed. Tilting his wrist, he gave his glass a swirl, distracting himself with the ‘tink’ of the ice and soft splash of rum against them. After a pause, he pressed his lips to the rim and took another sip. 

His tongue burned, and the edges of his vision started to waver, but it didn’t distract him from the topic at hand. He put down the drink and slid down a bit in his chair. “Why? Don’t you believe me?”

“Oh, I believe you, mate. I’m not here to question the king. You just seem a bit, ah—”

“Virginal? Demure?” Anduin supplied. After all, he’d heard it a hundred times. 

“Proper, I should say. You seem proper. Forgive me, your Majesty, but it’s hard to picture you down on your knees.”

At the other edge of the table, Mathias Shaw cleared his throat. He was the only one there not drinking, and when he crossed his arms, it was hard not to feel the differences in their demeanor. The grumble in his voice as he spoke only served to punctuate that contrast.

“Flynn, that’s enough,” the spymaster warned, “I want to remind you—”

“No, really, it’s quite all right, Master Shaw,” Anduin rushed to correct him. Waving his hand, he reached for the glass again, and then lifted it in Flynn’s direction. He had intended to go in for a toast, but the ex-pirate seemed to assume he wanted a refill. Not bothering to correct him, Anduin let the older man top off his glass. With a smile and what he hoped was an easy laugh, he thanked him, then turned his gaze back to the spymaster. 

“I don’t want to be king tonight, really. I invited you two in hopes of a friendly night, and as far as I’m concerned, this is friendly conversation. So please, let me answer the captain’s questions.”

Shaw didn’t protest, but he didn’t nod, either. Anduin decided that would have to be good enough. Tucking back a stray strand of hair, the king leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. 

He watched Flynn glance first at Shaw, then back over at him, before finally opening his mouth to continue, “Look, I’m not trying to question you here, King Anduin. I just want to know who it was.”

‘Who it was?’ Anduin felt his stomach clench. He should have anticipated the question—in fact, he’d damn near set himself up for it—but the rum had made his tongue outpace his thoughts. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. Unbidden, Saurfang’s face came to mind, and the heat in his cheeks ran cold. Oh no. He had invited the men here to drink hoping for one night away from his grief, but here he was, tongue dry and eyes starting to prickle. He pursed his lips and drew in a breath, but he feared it wouldn't be enough. 

Thankfully, Shaw must have caught the change in his posture. Anduin heard him straightening in his seat. “Flynn,” the rogue’s voice was just as firm as it had been before, but there was something more to his words: a gentleness, perhaps, and a seriousness that made Anduin wonder just how much he knew.

When Anduin finally chanced a glance in Shaw’s direction and caught the concern in his furrowed brows, he started to suspect that the answer to that was _everything._

“It’s okay,” Anduin insisted, not breaking eye contact with his spymaster even though he addressed them both. After a desperate swig of his rum, he was ready as he would be to play off the painful moment. “Oh, you know, Flynn, a few people,” he shrugged again, letting his gaze fall on the wall to the left of Shaw’s head, “Arator the Redeemer, for one.”

“Don’t know him,” the ex-pirate was quick to confess, and even quicker to keep pressing. Whatever had just transpired between Anduin and Shaw seemed to have left him undaunted. “Whoever he is, he must have balls of steel, or way more power than I could dream of. All right, then, let it out. Who else?”

“Else?” Anduin inwardly winced. There wasn’t enough rum left in the bottle to numb the blow.

“Yeah, mate. You said, ‘for one,’ didn’t you? Forgive me for prying. I’m just trying to understand who walks up to the fucking High King of the Alliance and is like, oh, yeah, give it a nosh, that’s a good lad.”

“Flynn,” Shaw warned again, a bit louder, “I think that’s more than enough.”

When Anduin met the spymaster’s gaze this time, he found his lips pursed in a line and the hint of a flush on his cheeks. Too addled with rum to analyze the look any further, Anduin decided to turn away, pick up his glass, and press the rim to his soft lower lip. 

The king could feel both pairs of eyes on him as he did it, but he just stared down into his liquor. Whatever either of them was thinking was fine. He had told them as much of the truth as he felt comfortable sharing, and what they guessed or didn’t guess was really up to them. 

For a moment, nobody spoke. Flynn refilled his cup, and then tried, once again, to extend the bottle to Shaw. The spymaster held up a hand in refusal. Shifting to one side, Anduin tucked his legs up on his chair, letting his feet thread underneath the armrest to dangle off to the side. 

Licking his lips, the king thought to ask if his guests might like some bread to soak up the drink. It seemed, however, that he wouldn’t get the chance. Cutting him off, Flynn cleared his throat, and then whispered, all too audibly: “It’s okay, I’ve sucked my fair share of dicks in my time, too, you know, most recently this one here.”

The captain’s confession wasn’t close to unexpected, but it caught the king off guard, nonetheless. Flustering, he nearly dropped his glass. One glance in Shaw’s direction revealed that he wasn’t the only one having trouble staying upright. 

The faint flush that had blossomed on the spymaster’s cheeks now burned, and there was an unmistakable strain in his voice when he shot back, “Well, so much for discretion.”

“Hey, he told us, didn’t he? It’s only fair.”

“I’m not sure fairness is what you were going for.”

“It doesn’t matter either way now, does it? The cat’s already out—”

“What’s it like?” Anduin cut in. If he were sober, he would have never dared let himself ask, but tonight his words flowed freely, tumbling together in an eager rush. He knew he shouldn't have said it, but he also didn’t care to take it back. “Being with Shaw, I mean. Being together. What is it like?”

“Does he always look this grim you mean?” Flynn supplied, though Anduin wasn’t sure that’s what he’d meant at all. “Nope, not even. Sometimes he even smiles when he cums. Can you imagine that?”

“I’m not sure I can, no,” Anduin admitted with a chuckle. He could feel Shaw shifting once more, and he offered him a smile that he hoped to be good-natured.

Distracted as he was with looking at Shaw, he wasn’t ready for the words that left Flynn’s mouth next: 

“Well, want to find out?”

Anduin’s eyes flew open. Any composure left on his face disappeared, and his jaw went slack. Bawdy as their discussion had been, this was a leap beyond even that. His tongue felt heavy and his throat too tight as he fought through his shock to reply, “Find out? Oh, you mean—”

“If you want to,” Flynn answered, then looked at his partner with a sheepish grin, “If he wants to, too. Just wanted to throw it out there.”

Anduin half-expected Shaw to snap and tell Flynn they needed to leave; that he didn’t truly gave Anduin pause. In fact, the spymaster had grown strangely quiet: too quiet. The two older men exchanged looks, and Anduin realized with a start that something, at some time, had likely been confessed to lead Flynn to believe this was what his partner wanted. 

After the rush of adrenaline that had passed over Anduin, he found himself better able to speak— and think. The edges of his vision were no longer nearly as blurred, and rather than numbness, he felt alive. From the trembling in his fingers to the tightness between his legs, Anduin was aware and knew that this was what he wanted, too. 

Without another word, Anduin rose from his seat and circled around to the other side of the table. Now standing between Shaw’s chair and Flynn’s, he waited and clasped his hands together in front of him. 

“Okay. Yes,” Anduin murmured, looking first to his right, and then to his left at Shaw, “I want to. Please tell me what you want me to do.” 

“Your Majesty,” the spymaster repeated, but this time it wasn't a warning. Instead it sounded like a request, and one Anduin was quick to meet with a nod. Shaw’s lips were set in a line, but his eyes were wide—conflicted, perhaps—but eager. It was hardly what he expected to find on the older man’s face. He liked it—more, perhaps, than he cared to admit. 

Distracted, Anduin didn’t notice Flynn had risen until they stood shoulder-to-arm. 

“Should I?” The captain offered with a sloppy grin Anduin couldn’t help but return, no matter how loudly his heart pounded in his chest. “Or do you want to…?”

“Yes,” Anduin decided, and then, in case Flynn hadn’t caught his meaning, went on to add, “Both.”

“Okay, then,” Flynn nodded and rested a hand against the top of his arm, “You first, your Majesty.”

 _Me first,_ Anduin reiterated to himself. He swallowed, took a step closer to the spymaster, and then, before he could lose his nerve, lowered to kneel between the rogue’s leather-clad thighs. 

A calloused hand came to rest against the side of his face, the thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. Tilting up his chin until their gazes met, Shaw finally spoke, low and serious: “You don’t have to. I’m sure that you know.”

“I do,” Anduin turned and pressed his lips against the heel of the spymaster’s hand. He nuzzled, hoping the gesture would be enough to assure him, but still added, just to be safe, “I know what I am doing, and I know I want to do it. If I may, I would like to kiss you.”

Anduin could hear the older man swallow. It took a moment, but then he answered under his breath, “You may.”

That was good enough for Anduin. Leaning in, he pressed their lips together, enjoying the way the spymaster’s mustache tickled the tip of his nose. 

With his mouth occupied, the king found himself more confident to reach down between the older man’s legs. Nudging his fingers beneath the buckle of his belt, he found the lacings that held his breeches in place. They were already starting to strain, and when he rubbed his palm over the tent that leather cording soon went taut.

He squeezed, and Shaw’s cock twitched into his touch. With a bit of maneuvering, the king unlatched the belt, untied the cords, and eased the rogue’s shaft into his waiting hands. 

It was only when he broke the kiss to look down that he remembered they weren’t alone. Flynn hummed in approval, then took a step closer, his leather boots thumping against the wood floor. 

“You like it?” The ex-pirate teased. Anduin blushed and nodded, wrapping his fingers around his shaft. 

Shaw didn’t make a sound at first, but the king caught the faintest hint of a grunt in the way he drew in a breath. 

“Good,” Flynn murmured. He pressed a hand to Shaw’s thigh, and then sank to the floor behind Anduin. “I’m gonna touch you, then, your Majesty, if that’s all right? Just let me know if you want me to stop.”

Biting his lip, Anduin nodded. From the way his body reacted to Flynn leaning against him—the broadness and softness of his chest against Anduin’s back and the heat of his breath in his hair—Anduin highly doubted he’d be wanting him to stop anytime soon. 

Seemingly satisfied, Flynn wrapped both arms around him, then clutched the front of his tunic. His palms rubbed over Anduin’s chest—made flat by his bindings—and then down his abdomen to curl up between his thighs. Between the ache of his clit against the captain’s palm and the way his cock nudged against the swell of his ass, it was hard to focus on much else. 

But after a moment and a few shaky breaths, Anduin returned his attention to Shaw: to the way his eyes widened as he looked down at him and the unmistakable throb in his hardening cock. He gave him a tentative stroke, then leaned forward. Flynn propped his chin against his shoulder to watch. 

The spymaster was easier to wield than Saurfang or Baine, and less reluctant than Genn or Arator. His thighs remained steady, but he spread his knees to give the king more room to work. Shaw threaded his fingers through Anduin’s hair, tenting them slightly as Anduin took in his cock. The younger man felt them clench as he pursed his lips around his head and gave him a gentle suck. 

Someone exhaled, though Anduin couldn’t be sure if it were Shaw or Flynn. He was too focused on the spymaster’s heady smell and the thick nest of hair surrounding the base of his shaft. Anduin wanted more, so he went further. Sliding in one inch, then another, he didn’t stop until that hair tickled his upper lip and he felt the softness of his sac brush against his chin. 

Somebody grunted; Anduin was fairly sure it was Flynn from the way he squeezed at Anduin’s cunt. He could feel his finger pressed firm between his lips and he dimly wondered if his wetness had leaked through his silk trousers. Moaning softly around Shaw’s cock, he pulled back, kissed his head, and then pumped him again, before taking him back into the hollow of his throat. 

Anduin fell into that rhythm, interrupted only when his own knees buckled or his throat spasmed slightly around the intrusion. Though it was hard to make sense of every feeling, he knew Flynn was kissing his neck, then nipping at the skin just below his ear. He knew the captain’s goatee tickled and that his tongue was hot against the shell of his ear.

Dimly he heard Flynn whisper something, but it took a moment for him to make sense of it: “Guess this is why all those men risked their heads to ask you for this, huh?” He teased. “Glad I decided to take the chance.”

If Shaw overheard, he didn’t acknowledge it. Anduin doubted he would have had it in him to scold even if he had. His breath had grown noticeably quicker and the hand he pressed into the king’s hair started to shake.

Glancing up, Anduin met his gaze and found him smiling, strained and awkward though it seemed to be. He curled his lips into a grin of his own, keeping that look on his face while he sucked and resting his palm gently against the spymaster’s leg. 

He slid up, then sank back down. Flynn ground against his ass before leaning forward and pressing his free hand against Shaw’s waist. Crowded though it was, Anduin shifted as much as he could to accommodate the change in the ex-pirate’s posture. He soon realized that Flynn was trying to get in and kiss the side of the spymaster’s shaft each time he left it exposed.

Shaw didn’t last long after that. His hand tightened in Anduin’s golden hair. He hissed, then grunted out a warning that may or may not have been Anduin’s name. Undaunted, the king nudged Flynn out of the way with his nose. He sucked, stopping halfway down when he felt the rogue’s cock give a telling throb. 

Shaw’s salty release flooded his mouth, and he swallowed. Against his side, he felt Flynn moan, then murmur in wordless gratitude against the line of his jaw.


	6. Wrathion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading all of these. ♥ I appreciate it!!

The window seat creaked as Anduin leaned his weight into it. The blue cushions piled behind him were the only thing keeping the small of his back from digging into the sill. Under other circumstances, he might have protested, or, at least, urged his partner to walk with him to the bed. 

But today, their kisses were frantic and desperate. It felt as if they couldn’t pause for a breath, lest Anduin come to his senses and remember all the reasons it was wrong for him to let the dragon between his legs. 

With the heel of Wrathion’s hand pressed firm against his clit, however, there was little he could do but moan. When Wrathion knelt in front of him, he buried his fingers in his curls, and when Wrathion kissed along the inside of his thigh—his beard grazing his sensitive skin and his breath hot against Anduin’s lips—the king jerked open his legs and clutched at the sill for support. 

His foot twitched and his knee knocked one of the vessels Wrathion had brought with him onto the floor. It hit the stone with a clatter, but whether it shattered or not remained a mystery to the king. Wrathion, too, didn’t lift his head or turn to pay it a glance. He just kissed the inside of Anduin’s leg and traced his thumb along the underside of the human’s swollen clit.

Anduin squeezed closed his eyes and gasped. A jolt passed through him at the softness of Wrathion’s thumb and the sharp tease of his pointed nail. Pursing his lips and squeezing closed his eyes, he yielded to the heat and wetness pooling between his folds.

The next thing he felt was Wrathion’s tongue lapping along his slit and then tracing a slow circle around his tip. Clenching, he arched his back, and another quiver overcame him.

“Ah—” Anduin huffed out a breath. His left hand clutched Wrathion’s curls while his right fumbled with the items the dragon had brought for his consideration. He nudged aside a compass, then knocked a letter or two out of the way, before settling on the map of Uldum— finally something big enough to ball up into his fingers. 

They weren’t doing anything else with it, after all: not now. Dimly, Anduin wondered if either of them had ever believed their excuses for this meeting from the start. Now, with Wrathion licking and sucking and pressing back his hood, it seemed to have been such a ruse. 

Even with his eyes closed, Anduin felt the dragon’s crimson stare searching his face and the smirking curl of his lips as they wrapped around him and sucked. He felt Wrathion’s nose nuzzling the thick hair on his mound and the tickle of his beard against his already-swollen lips. Heat rose from Anduin’s neck to the tips of his ears, but his hand remained firmly splayed on the back of Wrathion’s head. 

Unlike those nights under the covers in Pandaria, today the sun was streaming in through the window and revealing every line and curve of his body to the dragon’s piercing gaze. 

Yet in spite of it all, Anduin didn’t cower. He twitched and shook under Wrathion’s tongue and rocked up into his sucks. His body became more frantic with every change of pressure, and before he knew it, he had his thighs draped over the dragon’s shoulders. Wrathion murmured in approval, and the heat of his breath made Anduin’s clit ache. 

Tension built deep beneath the base and it jerked into the heat of the dragon’s mouth. After a few more sucks, everything in the king seemed to draw inward, and he knew only tightness, then relief, as all that had built up in him unfurled. 

His hips arched from the bench and his heels dug into Wrathion’s back as he shuddered and cried and succumbed to the ecstasy washing over him. 

After a few jagged breaths, Anduin finally cracked open his eyes. He found Wrathion standing before him, still fully clothed, with a smirk curling beneath the ends of his now-wet mustache. As if the smugness wasn’t bad enough, he chuckled, and murmured, with his eyes alight, “Ah, Anduin. Just as sweet as I had remembered. Some things, at least, never seem to change.”

If Anduin’s face had been hot before, now it felt as if it might combust. He wanted to cut in and protest, but his breath was still labored and jagged. All he managed was something akin to a grunt. 

This only seemed to encourage Wrathion further. He stepped in and traced his nail along the side of Anduin’s cheek, brushing back his bangs, then kissing his drawn lips. Embarrassing as it was, the king couldn’t help but part them, then lick them to get them wetter. He tasted himself on the tip of his tongue and wanted to look away, but Wrathion’s thumb under his chin held him in place.

“You’re the worst,” he finally managed to mutter.

Wrathion only laughed and murmured against his skin, “So I’ve heard. And yet, I’ve also heard I suck your dick like nobody else. Quite the mixed message, is it not?” 

Anduin rolled his eyes. If his lower body hadn’t been so spent, he might have pulled closed his legs in a show of feigned disapproval. Trembling as they were, however, his thighs just remained slackened and spread on either side of Wrathion’s hips. 

He’d have to get the upper hand some other way, and he tried—oh, he tried to wedge his hand down between their abdomens and under Wrathion’s coat. His fingers clutched at the flat mound between Wrathion’s legs and curled up to find his slit through the fabric, but he earned merely a gasp before Wrathion took a step back. He arched his brow. Wrathion smiled, and then knelt to extract something from his open backpack. 

“Now, now,” Wrathion teased. The sound of his voice, as always, made Anduin huff. Its smoothness and confidence grated on him, but it made his face hot, as well. His heart raced, and he wasn’t sure if it was nervousness at what the dragon might be planning, or desperation to have their lips pressed back together and his body wrapped in his arms. 

The dragon kept his eyes on him, but if he noticed any of the conflict Anduin was feeling, he certainly didn’t let on to it. He just smiled his usual easy smile, and removed a long object attached to two leather straps and a series of buckles. 

Anduin’s jaw fell open. His chest clenched, and the feelings he had been parsing through moments before all succumbed to something he couldn’t put into words. He knew what it was, and he wondered what Wrathion was planning. The dragon flashed a smile that exuded his usual confidence, but Anduin noticed that his fingers, too, were shaking as he righted the straps and ran his fingers up the curve of the unusual toy. 

“W-what?” Anduin finally managed, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Do you want me to use it on you?” 

The suggestion itself was lewd enough, but what followed made his clit swell once more. 

“Oh, no, on you, I had planned. Assuming you are still up to it, of course.”

“I—I am,” Anduin admitted, as his gaze followed Wrathion’s fingers up the strangely-shaped shaft. There were bumps lining each side, nubs Anduin couldn’t help but imagine rubbing him from inside. Licking his lips again, he glanced up at Wrathion’s face, and tried to ask the question that was burning in his mind, “Is that a…?” 

“A dragon, my dear?” Wrathion answered, “Indeed. Or, at least, a model of one, for now. Perhaps when I become more adept at shaping my mortal form, I can even conjure one for you.”

As presumptuous as the offer might have been, it still made Anduin weak. He kept staring, and his legs spread open subconsciously. “It’s interesting,” he managed. The blush on his cheeks betrayed him. 

“It is. It feels excellent, as well.”

“So you’ve—?”

Anduin didn’t get the chance to finish his question. With the straps still dangling down either side of his hand, Wrathion grasped the base of the cock. He brought the smooth head between Anduin’s lips and rubbed, nudging his clit, then sliding down to press firm against his opening. 

The dragon’s gaze remained fixed on Anduin’s face. Realizing he was searching for his approval, Anduin nodded, then gasped as the toy sank inch-by-inch into his heat.

It was like nothing Anduin had ever felt: from its shape and size to the unusual flare at its tip. Caught off guard, the king mewled, high and undignified. His mouth fell open, and his chest rose. When Wrathion slid it out, he ached for its return, and when he thrust back in, he shuddered in desperation to be claimed. 

Anduin’s eyes fluttered closed. He didn’t realize Wrathion had leaned forward until he felt his hot breath against the curve of his ear: “Roll over.” 

“Right here?” ‘I do have a bed, you know,’ he wanted to add, but every word took more breath than he seemed to have. 

“Right here,” Wrathion affirmed. When he nodded, his curls tickled Anduin’s cheek. Anduin didn’t have it in him to refuse.

He just waited for Wrathion to slide out the toy and did as he was told. Swiping the rest of Wrathion’s mail out of the way and sliding off the window seat, he turned and propped his elbows on the blue velvet cushion. 

Behind him, he heard Wrathion stepping out of his shoes and dropping his pants. He heard the metallic clinking of buckles, and a hitch in the dragon’s breath, then the pad of his feet as he approached once more and rested his hands on either side of Anduin’s waist. 

There was a moment of hesitation—a quick readjustment, perhaps, and an exhale Anduin felt like a puff against the back of his neck, making him wonder, momentarily, if Wrathion had any idea what he was doing—before the dildo slid back between his lips and then pressed into his hole.

The king shuddered. Wrathion’s sudden thrust bowed him forward until his hair tumbled off his shoulders and down around his face. Their change in position changed the way the cock felt inside of him: the pressure against his front wall and the depths it was able to reach. 

Gasping, Anduin clenched his hands together and rested his forehead upon them. Wrathion’s nails dug into his skin, and every time he rocked forward, the leather straps jangled. The king could smell the familiar scent of the dragon’s arousal leaking exposed between them.

Anduin closed his eyes and savored it: the heat of Wrathion’s breath against his neck, the way their hips knocked together, the dragging of the cock in and out of his body and how he ached and begged for it. His legs quivered. His clit throbbed. Clutching the corners of the cushion beneath him, he let out a cry that Wrathion quickly mirrored against the curve of his ear. 

Suddenly, the angle of the dragon’s thrusts changed, and Anduin realized he was reaching above them for the latch holding closed the window. He tried to lift his head and question the gesture, but it was too late. The pane swung out, and in its place came a gust of fresh air and sun that spilled across Anduin’s face. A choke rose in his throat, then a gasp when the king finally came to terms with what Wrathion was doing. 

“Wait, we—we can’t—” He pressed back on his elbows. Wrathion met him, slamming his hips against his backside and balling a hand up in his hair. 

“Oh?” Tilting his head, he kissed his ear again. Every word made Anduin tremble. “And why is that, my dear? Are you worried we might be seen?”

“I’m—”

“Worried they might hear you crying my name, of all things, with my cock buried inside you?”

“I—yes!” He admitted on the heels of another moan. Biting his lip, he made a halfhearted grab for the window, but they both knew he had no intention of actually closing it. It was the same game they used to play curled up around each other at the Tavern and fumbling under the water in Tong’s hot spring. 

It was the same game, except this time Wrathion was mounting him, and the stakes—and the amount of adrenaline racing through Anduin’s veins—were much higher. He shuddered and tried to muffle another cry, but he couldn’t, and didn’t want to. Wrathion's name echoed through the courtyard below and sent a few birds flying away from the roof. 

“You’re the worst,” Anduin muttered again, pressing his face into the cushion to muffle the sound. 

With that tease, Wrathion rolled his hips and reached down to rub the head of his clit. Sensitive and overworked as it was, it twitched and tingled under his touch. Anduin’s knees buckled, and Wrathion clutched his hips to hold him upright. The king’s body suddenly tightened, and his cunt leaked cum down the insides of his thighs. 

Nipping his shoulder, Wrathion chided, and thrust again, holding back nothing, leaving him no time or chance to get his bearings. “But you love me.”

Anduin drew his shoulder blades together. He had to fight to get back on his elbows, and when he did, Wrathion slid a wet hand up his chest, over the slight swell of his chest, and then to the curve of his throat. He didn’t apply any pressure: he just held him, and kissed his ear, then the side of his face—seemingly claiming every bit of skin he could reach. Anduin melted into it, warm, and ecstatic, as Wrathion murmured, “You love me, and I love you, and here we are, finally together once more.”

Anduin nodded. Another wave of relief came washing over him, but this time, he dimly suspected, it had less to do with the force of his climax and more to do with the warmth of Wrathion’s chest pressed against his back.

Sighing, he nodded, tilted up his head, and let the afternoon sun shine upon his sweat-soaked brow.


End file.
